


Many types of pain

by edinbourgeois



Category: DCU
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Aged-Up Character(s), Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Swearing, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-15
Packaged: 2019-10-08 00:19:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17375942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edinbourgeois/pseuds/edinbourgeois
Summary: Damian is captured, cruelly tortured and assaulted.Shameless aged up Damian hurt and comfort with a lot of DamiJon thrown in.





	1. Damian I

**Author's Note:**

> Please do not read this if violence or attempted sexual assault might trigger you in anyway.

Damian Wayne hung from his wrists, stripped to the waist, and covered in his own blood. Deep gashes already littered his back and chest and yet his torturer would not stop. Blow after blow of the vicious whip came down upon him, and Damian couldn’t help but cry out in agony. When the beating started Damian had refused even to cry out, and just grunted. But that had been several hours ago, he didn’t know how many. Now he screamed. 

Damian imagined in his head what each lash was doing to him. It struck him furiously, slicing into him like a burning razor, cleaving skin apart. Counting them seemed pointless. He had wondered why his torturer had continued flogging him when clearly Damian had no intention of answering his questions. 

“What is Batman’s real name?”

Damian acted like he always did with the press, no comment. Although Vicki Vale or Cat Grant seemed like superior company at the moment.  
Several blows reigned down, on his chest this time. Damian crooked his neck to examine his chest. One nasty cut under his right pectoral was beginning to ooze. The other blows had just landed welts. 

“Who is Superboy?”

If his captor kept asking questions like that he wasn’t going to get anything out of Damian. Damian was the son of Batman and Talia Al Ghul. He was Robin. He was a hero. He would not betray his friend no matter what agony befell him. 

The question though did spark something in Damian’s thoughts. Superboy. Jon. 

They’d fought just before Damian had been captured. The argument was foolish. Damian had been cold because he felt like it, forgetting that Jon took such behaviour to heart. Damian hated himself for that now. If they’d just stayed together on patrol, if Damian has just been able to control his temper, they’d still be together, on a rooftop, sharing secrets and kisses. 

This brought Damian’s thoughts back to his captor. As if he’d reveal to this man what Superboy’s real name was. Like he would betray the boy he loved. Another tattoo of blows reigned down on his back, the whip curling around his ribs . Pain exploded across Damian's ribs and he succumbed to darkness. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Damian woke to a new pain in his body. He knew the sweat from his straining muscles was beginning to trickle into the wounds and he felt the salt sting. He tried to pull at his cuffs again. He tugged his body down with as much force as possible. Foolish. He didn’t think it would work but he had to try. Had to hope. Jon would want him to hope. So would Grayson, and Father. 

Sharp pains in his wrists and a trickle of blood down his arm encouraged him to stop. Pointless. 

He could hear his captor talking to someone outside the door of the cell. He didn’t know where the cell was, presumably in Gotham. His kidnapping has been very quick. One moment he was storming away from Jon to sulk, the next a dart was in his neck. He’d come round in this dark room, shirtless, suspended by metal chains and determined to hurt whoever had captured him as much as possible. He had planned to escape, find Jon, apologise profusely for ever being so cruel, and beg to be kissed and caressed, then return to his father’s house. 

That had been hours ago. He no longer entertained thoughts of escape. Now he wanted to be rescued. 

Father, bursting through that door, freeing him from the chains, wrapping him in his cape and driving him back to the manor.  
Or Grayson, Grayson breaking in, and carrying him to safety and endless hugs that Damian would pretend to hate but lean into so that Grayson knew that Damian appreciated him.  
Or even Todd killing his captor. Or Drake. Even Drake. 

He wasn’t sure if they knew he was even missing. Jon had probably gone home to cry after Damian had been such a beast to him. 

The thought of Jon crying was forced from Damian’s mind. His captor had come back into the room.

“Well pretty boy… since my whip doesn’t seem to be encouraging you to talk my boss has authorised me to have a bit more fun with you.” Damian looked at him. 6 feet tall. Masked. Black clothes splattered with dark patches of liquid. Damian’s blood by the smell of him. 

“Fuck you.” Damian croaked out. 

This caused the man to laugh.  
His captor moved forwards and lifted an arm. Damian flinched, preparing for a punch that never came. Instead of hitting him the captor ran his hand down Damian’s muscled chest. Damian hissed and shuddered as the hand pressed over the welts and cuts. He could make out the man’s eyes through the mask and shuddered again at the glitter in them. The bastard was enjoying this.

“My boss has authorised me to hurt you in a new way. To truly break you. To make you mine.” 

Damian just stared at him. He doubted anything could be as bad as being flogged until his back had practically no skin left. Or as painful as his assassin upbringing. There were so many types of pain. Soft, hard, sharp, dull. Broken bones and slashes. Punctures and aches. Grayson had taught him to recognise new types of pain as well- emotional pain. Disappointment, loss, guilt. Damian was an expert in pain. Whatever this creep could do wouldn’t hurt much. 

Then his captor began to pull Damian’s tights down and Damian began to cry out and struggle. He could feel the man’s erection pressing into his increasingly bare thigh. Damian kicked but his legs were caught leading to the tights being pulled lower and lower. 

Within seconds, Damian was almost entirely bare.  
“A thong? Batbrat wears a thong? Oh that’s fucking hilarious. Its like you want me to fuck you!” The captor giggled away.

Damian had wore the thong as a treat for Jon. Jon had bought it for Damian in an attempt to suggest a deepening of their relationship. They’d been dating since they were 14, 6 years now and had never had sex. They’d seen each other nude certainly, but never sex. The thong had been a gesture to suggest Jon wanted to finally have relations. Damian had wore it for patrol because if not for the fight, he had intended to be wearing the flimsy garment and nothing else. The circumstances couldn’t have been more different. The thought of wearing it with Jon had been exciting. The fabric would have emphasised Damian’s body, making him feel confident. Instead it made him feel vulnerable. 

His captor backed away from the thrashing prisoner and began to pull something out of a previously unseen case in the corner. Damian proceeded to thrash and try and free his hands, his wrists began to bleed profusely but Damian didn’t care he needed to get away from this creep, from this cell, before he was-

A sharp pain in his ribs ended the panic. Damian felt his muscles relax.

“That was a paralytic. Some people mix them up with anaesthetic, you know a painkiller, but-“ the captor scratched down Damian’s raw and bleeding back and Damian felt the pain explode through his body. “But as you can tell, it doesn’t kill pain. Understand pretty boy? When I fuck your body, which you’ve so neatly covered for me,” the bastard pulled back and released the waistband of the thong. “You’ll be able to feel everything, and not even move. I’m going to fuck you, and then I’m going to leave you for a while. When I come back, I’m going to ask you my questions again. If you don’t answer, you’ll learn just how mean I can be.”

The man fiddled with the chains and Damian felt the cuffs around his wrists coming off. He really tried to fight but his muscles would not respond. He slumped to the floor, face down. Damian could sense the man behind him, could feel the hands beginning to touch his thighs. Damian felt sick. He wanted to scream or cry. Or beg. He didn’t want to be like those victim’s he’d helped on patrol. He didn’t want to be raped.

 

Suddenly the world was all noise and cold air. 

 

Damian was aware of shouting. A loud bang erupted near him. The sound of ripping stone. 

 

A body fell in front of Damian. 

 

A boot smashed into it, and the head snapped round to face Damian. It was the masked face of his captor. A hole was under the left eye, bleeding. The hole was ringed with small burn marks. Damian tried to move his neck to look up at the owner of the boot, but he couldn’t. He whimpered. He couldn’t believe he was whimpering but he had just avoided the unimaginable and seen his captor killed and didn’t know how to communicate his gratitude to the boot in any other way. The boot proceeded to kick the corpse before Damian several more times.

“WHAT DID THAT MOTHERFUCKER DO TO YOU?” someone bellowed at Damian. 

“There isn’t time for that now Jay- someone get him to the cave. Jesus God look at his back, he needs help.” This voice was more familiar, more welcome. Grayson. Grayson’s voice. It sounded stretched and tight. 

“I’ll go. Should I drive or just run with him?” Damian didn’t know this voice. It wasn’t one of his brothers. 

“Carry him. It’ll be quicker.” Grayson said. He must be talking to West, thought Damian.

He was being lifted into West’s arms. Cradled like a baby. And the world was a blur again.


	2. Tim I

Tim Drake was having an appalling day. 15 meetings. Another awkward lunch with Bruce where his adopted mentor had tried to talk about feelings. He blamed Clark. Clark was always pushing Bruce to open up more. He’d argued with the demon brat over who was eating all the cereal in the house (obviously Dick) and he’d not been able to consume the optimal amount of coffee that kept him running. 

His day had got considerably worse when at 4 in the morning Jon Kent had phoned the Batcave. The demon brat had apparently stormed off from patrol with Superboy after they’d had a lover’s tiff about moving in together. Jon wanted to know if the brat was home yet and feeling suitably guilty enough to kiss and make up. Tim had assured Superboy that the demon brat was not home and must still be in Gotham, leaving the two plenty of time to kiss and make up and still get on with their patrol. The call had ended and Tim had just begun to pour himself another coffee from the newly installed machine when he’d had the thought.

What if the demon brat had got himself into trouble? It was like him. Get angry, go fight someone was practically the family motto. And although Tim had often fantasised about dropping Damian into a river (with a rock attached, otherwise he’d float), Tim didn’t like the idea of his adopted brother fighting while upset. He dutifully went back to the monitors and began to type, one by one taking control of the CCTV cameras installed nearby from where Superboy and Damian had argued. He therefore had to watch on Camera #5672B (installed on a law firm’s building) Damian walking down an alley then collapsing to the ground. The small figure on the screen writhed for a few heart wrenching seconds and stopped. 

Tim had begun to dial the communicators for every member of his family he could reach when he saw four large figures on the screen carry Damian to a van.  
He spoke into the microphone attached to the huge computer he had helped redesign. “Come In all bat family members. Come in all bat family members.”  
“What is it Red Robin?” Batman’s voice was cool and collected. 

“Robin has been kidnapped. I repeat Robin has been kidnapped.”

“From where?” Batman’s voice was much sharper now. 

“44th and 6th.” 

“On my way. Tell Nightwing, and Redhood.”

“Will do. Sending you the van’s registration number ASAP.” 

Tim phoned his elder brother’s next. Dick had been with Wally on a date and they were both going to make their way back to Gotham to help. Jason had been sleeping, but after a great deal of swearing had promised to help find Damian. 

A small cough behind him made Tim whip round. Alfred looked grim. 

“Did you hear all that?” Tim asked.

The butler just nodded.

“I shall call Dr Thompkins. Master Damian will need medical supervision when he is returned home. Master Timothy, Master Kent is upstairs in some distress. I shall take over communications, and you must tell him what is happening.”

“Yes Alfred.” 

Tim abandoned the computer and felt a wave of fear hit him. Co-ordinating Damian’s rescue had allowed him to concentrate and overcome the panic he felt for his younger brother. Now there was little do to but worry. He stepped into the small hidden elevator that would take him to the study.  
Jon was waiting for him. The younger man’s jaw was clenched but he smiled when he saw Tim.

“Hey Timmy, when’s Damian due back?”

“Jon, you should sit down.” The half alien looked at Tim but obediently sat. 

“Damian was kidnapped shortly after he left you. We don’t know where he is yet. Batman, Nightwing, Flash and Red Hood are on their way to find him. We don’t know if whoever took him has found out his identity yet.” 

Jon’s eyes began to well up with tears and he slumped forward, head in hands, and began to sob.

"No... no... no no no NO!" 

A sudden thought hit Tim.

“You have super hearing, right? Why didn’t you not hear him being kidnapped? And can you hear him now?”  
Jon’s head snapped up. “I block it out. I’ll try now.”

Tim watched as Jon closed his watering eyes. 

“Can you hear-“

Tim’s communicator buzzed. 

“What?” Tim answered. 

“Vans burnt out by the docks. No sign of Robin. Status report.” Batman growled into Tim’s ear.

“I have Superboy with me. He’s trying to listen for Damian. What are you going to do next?”

Batman didn’t respond for several seconds.

“Someone will have seen whoever ditched the van and torched it.”

“Ok. I’ll keep you informed B.”

The communicator fell silent. There goes one line of inquiry.  
Jon suddenly cried out “I can hear him!” Jon’s tears were falling down his face now.

“Where is he? Did he say anything?” Tim grabbed Jon by the shoulders. 

“He’s…” Jon took in a shaky breath, “He’s screaming. He’s… in Gotham. He’s still here.”

“Can you locate him? What can you hear that’s near him? Any machinery? Does it sound like a factory? Listen Jon. LISTEN.” Tim was shaking Jon now. 

“Eh I can hear a humming noise. Like a generator. Nothing big. Like the one Ma and Pa have at the farm.”

Right, Tim thought, a private usage generator. Two companies in Gotham. Both kept registries of their clients. Both hackable. The building would be near the docks surely. That narrowed it down to several hundred buildings. Unless they changed vehicle. Batman would find the second vehicle. Unless Damian was taken out of the van. Somewhere on the way to the docks. Tim scanned the addresses of private generators near the docks. 4. 3 were owned by Gothamites. 1 was a townhouse 1 mile away from the dock, owned by a holding company which Tim recognised as a off branch of LexCorp. Bingo. 

Tim dialled the communicator.

“Nightwing, Red hood, Flash, Batman- he’s at 114 Cobblepot avenue. Townhouse. Probably in the basement.”

Jon looked up eyes wide.

“On our way.” Crackled Nightwing’s voice. 

Tim sighed. Jon was shaking now like he didn’t know how to process the news. Activity would ward off panic. 

“Let’s head down to the cave. They’ll be here soon, and Damian will want to see you.”

Together the two heroes entered the elevator.


	3. Jon I

Jon Kent stood in the cave beside Alfred and Dr Thompkins twitching nervously. Tim was at the computer talking to Bruce through the communicator. Dami would be home any minute now. He’d be cleared by Alfred and the Dr and then Jon would hug him and kiss him and say how sorry he was for fighting. Damian would make his “TT” noise and then they could relax. Jon knew that Damian would be fine. He might be a little bruised, and he’d certainly be angry for getting kidnapped, but Damian would be alright. Damian wouldn’t allow himself to get hurt. When they’d first started working together after years of arguing Jon had been so aware of how human and fragile Dami was. Overtime Jon became convinced that Damian was the invulnerable one. The only weaknesses he ever saw in Dami were emotional ones.

Jon’s musings on Damian were cut short by Tim raising a hand to an earpiece and shouting.  
“INCOMING. Nightwing says Robin is hurt, badly. Flash is-”

A rush of wind and the red speedster was before them. Jon choked on his breath. 

In Wally’s arms was Damian. His domino mask was still on but his face was bruised and cut. What was visible of his chest was slashed all over with large bleeding wounds. His skin not stained by blood or mottled by bruises was deathly white. His body looked impossibly small. Damian wasn’t moving.  
Jon listened for the heartbeat, the heartbeat that if it wasn’t there was going to shatter his world. 

Jon willed himself to say something, to move. He just couldn’t, he was frozen in place. His mind screamed at him to react, to help Damian. MOVE! His brain commanded. By the time Jon choked out “Damian!” the injured bird had been sped into the medical bay of the cave, followed by Alfred and Dr Thompkins sprinting behind.  
“DAMIAN!” Jon started to move to follow them to the medical bay hands gripped his shoulders. Tim was holding him back. 

Tim was extremely pale and his voice shook “We can’t go in there- they need room to help him. You need to calm down. You need to let them help.” 

Jon allowed himself to be held still as the door to the medical bay slid shut. 

They were still standing when the Batmobile roared into the cave followed by Nightwing on his bike. The doors of the car were opening even as the car slid to a halt and the shadowy figure within was already tearing off his cowl and ran in to the medical bay before Jon or Tim could react.  
Nightwing dismounted. Tim leapt forward to hug his brother who just sobbed into Tim’s shoulder. 

“Is…?” Nightwing hiccoughed. “Is Damian…? Is he- dead?”

Tim looked at Jon even as he held Nightwing’s shivering frame. Jon’s eyes met Tim’s. The eyes of one of the smartest people Jon knew weren’t filled with certainty.  
A commotion by the med bay made all three men jump and as the door opened Jon’s heart lurched in preparation for the worst. 

“Out! You may not be able to help but we can, but we will not be able to if we do not have calm in this room Master Bruce. You too Master Wally. Out!” The butler’s usually unfazed voice was stern and commanding. 

A red blur and a dark shadow left the sectioned off room. 

Wally pulled off his own cowl and grabbed Dick from Tim. 

The Speedster spoke quickly and quietly “He’s stable now. But he’s lost a lot of blood. And they think he’s been drugged with something and they won’t know how bad it is until they’ve done a toxicity report. I think Bruce is doing that now.” 

Jon considered what would happen if Wally delivered worse news. Or if anyone delivered the worst news. His mind recoiled at the thought. Its Damian. He wouldn’t leave me, Jon thought desperately. 

He was being pushed by Tim now to follow Nightwing and Wally to a small seating area near the manor entrance to the cave. They sat in silence for several minutes. 

“Where’s Jason?” asked Tim. 

“Hunting down the bastards who ordered it.” Nightwing croaked. “I’ve told him not to kill them until- until Damian is better. He’ll want revenge. It’ll make him feel-” Nightwing sobbed as he tailed off.

It had taken until now for Jon to realise the most obvious fact. This hadn’t been an accident. Someone had hurt Damian. Had looked at him and wanted to hurt him. Jon’s felt the appalling sluggishness of shock shatter as his heart began to pound. 

“What happened to whoever hurt him?” He did his best to keep his voice steady. If he didn’t seem calm they would stop his running off. From finding the monster who had hurt Damian. They’d stop him from tearing him apart. 

“Dead. Jason shot him.” Wally intoned. “And kicked his skull in.” 

“Good.” Tim’s voice was cold.

 

Anger had been so helpful to Jon in those few seconds. He’d had a purpose. While the man he loved fought for his life on a table in that room, Jon was going to hurt whoever had hurt him. Damian would have approved of that sentiment. His warrior ethic in action- “hurt those who’d hurt you or the people you love”.  
But the monster was dead. The emotional armour that anger had provided fell away. He felt his eyes well up and he began to cry and sob into the arms of whoever he fell on. He didn’t know who. Or cared. 

He just wanted Damian to be ok.


	4. Jon II

Jon realised that he must have fallen asleep only when he was shaken awake by Dick.

Panic welled inside him until Dick smiled.

“Damian’s going to be ok. He’s not conscious yet, but he’s ok. Jon, Damian is going to be ok.” 

Jon heart leapt as he launched himself out of the chair and onto Dick.

“Can I see him?” 

“Once Bruce is finished being Daddy Bats and goes back to being grumpy Bats, sure.”

Together the two walked over to the medbay. The cave was much quieter now. Jon realised that Wally and Tim weren’t here. He looked around looking to see if he’d missed the brightly costumed heroes.

“Where is everyone?” 

“Tim is pretending to be asleep unstairs so no one knows how relieved he is. Wally’s gone back to our place to shower and grab us some clothes. Jason is in the kitchen upstairs making some breakfast for Alfred.”

“Breakfast!? How long did I sleep for Dick?” Jon felt a little upset that no one had bothered to wake him up the second Damian was in the clear.

“Around 4 hours. We didn’t have the heart to move you kiddo, and we didn’t think it’d be kind to keep you up and worrying.” Dick’s smile was apologetic. 

Jon slipped arms around the taller man’s waist and squeezed hard. 

The door to the medbay opened and Alfred slipped out. 

The butler was pale, and his wrinkled eyes seemed deeper, but his moustache and suit were as pristine as ever.  
“Ah Master Jon, Master Dick. I shan’t detain you. Dr Thompkin’s requires a bed.” The butler wobbled a little as he walked passed. 

“He’s exhausted but won’t admit it.” Dick whispered to Jon staring at the retreating back fondly. 

Dick knocked on the door to the medbay and Bruce Wayne opened the door looking grim. 

“Hey B, Jon wants to see Dami.” Dick put a hand on Batman’s shoulder. 

“Dick, could you leave Jon and I for a minute?” Batman’s voice was measured. 

Oh god, Jon thought. Dick was already striding away.

Jon looked up at Bruce Wayne. He was out of his suit, wearing t-shirt and sweatpants. Jon looked up into the handsome face of Damian’s father. Bruce was handsome in the same way Damian was, but without Damian’s olive skin and arched eyebrows. 

“I know you and Damian fought before he ran off.” It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. 

“Mr Wayne… I’m so sorry-“

Bruce raised a hand and Jon’s apology died on his lips.

“Damian can be difficult, and he shouldn’t have ran away after arguing. We’re lucky that you tried to patch it up or we wouldn’t have realised he was missing before it was too late. So for that, thank you. You have 20 minutes with him before I come back. If he wakes up, call me on the intercom immediately. Understand?”  
Jon nodded. 

The big bad Bat strode away.

Jon took a large gulp of the cave’s cool air. Jon walked into the bright, white room. 

Damian was lying on a hospital bed in the centre of the room. His chest was wrapped in white bandages, his legs covered by a sheet resting below his hips. His left arm was linked to a drip, and his right lay beside him. Jon looked as his chest for a few seconds to note the gentle rise and fall. Jon looked at the handsome face. A white Band-aid covered his right cheek bone half obscuring a dark purple bruise. He looked so small and delicate. 

Jon pressed his lips to Damian’s forehead. 

“A silly gesture of affection” Dami would call it, and then would probably tease him for being overemotional while secretly loving it. Damian was actually extremely sweet and caring. When Bruce had transferred Damian to Jon’s high school Damian had complained constantly about it. When Jon came out as gay the bullying had become relentless. Damian had been furious that Jon wouldn’t defend himself despite his powers. So one day, after seeing Jon in tears, Damian had found Jon’s bully and broken his nose. Damian broke the nose of one of Jon’s bully’s every day for a whole week until the message sank in- Jon Kent was not to be messed with or risk having a fist in your face. Jon had been so upset and grateful that he had pulled Damian into a hug. During said hug, Jon had felt lips press against his hair for the briefest of seconds. When they began to date, Jon bought Damian a small black steel ring. Damian had derided it as a “silly token of affection and evidence of Jon’s over-sentimentality”. But when Jon had been flicking through a magazine looking at photos of a red-carpet event in Gotham, he noticed Damian wearing the little black band. 

Jon sank into a chair next to the bed and held Damian’s warm hand. 

Jon listened to Damian’s breathing and gently rubbed his thumb over Damian’s calloused knuckles. Damian is alive. Damian is safe. Damian wouldn’t leave Jon.


	5. Damian II

Damian woke up in what his mother’s servants would have called Jannah- paradise. He was surprised. He had never truly believed in the afterlife. There was no evidence for a rational person such as Damian to believe in life after death. But Jon was here, with his shining blue eyes, and that was a miracle only possible in heaven. After all, he had surely died. No one could survive torture like that. Besides if it weren’t paradise why was Jon here? Damian had been awful to Jon when last they spoke. Jon wouldn’t be with Damian in life anymore. But maybe in paradise. 

Maybe what he was seeing is a Hafaza. A guardian angel in the shape of Jon receiving him to paradise.He raised his hand to touch the angel’s face. 

Pain exploded across Damian’s ribs and chest and he cried out.

If this was Jannah why was he still in pain? Weren’t his wounds supposed to heal?

He tried to raise his hand again- he needed to touch the beautiful face to believe it to be real. 

A hand caught his own and gently lowered it. 

“You need to stay still Dami or you’ll open the stitches on your chest. Dami please stay still.” The angel was talking to him. 

“Where am I?” Damian was surprised at how croaky his voice was. It hurt to use. 

“Please drink this water Dami.” The angel was holding up a glass with a straw- Damian sucked the water and felt it slip down his throat. 

“You’re in the cave. You’re safe. I was so scared but you’re here now and you’re safe.” The angel was beginning to cry. The wide blue eyes were filling with tears. He didn’t know if this was truly Jon or less miraculously an angel that looked like Jon but either way Damian needed the beautiful eyes to stop crying. 

“Please stop crying.” It was a simple request. But the laughter it caused surprised Damian. The angel giggled and he heard several more people chuckle around him. He turned his head and saw his father and Richard standing on his left side. 

“Am I dead?” Damian asked. 

“No. Are you in pain?” His father replied. 

“A little. If I have not died why is Jon here?” Damian addressed his father again.

“Because he loves you Dami and you should probably give him such attention before he explodes.” Richard answered him.

Damian turned his head to Jon and arched an eyebrow, pleasantly surprised to find it didn't hurt.

Jon kissed him in response. 

“This would be our opportunity to leave B and get lover boy some morphine.” Richard and his father left the room. Damian made sure to stick his middle finger up at Richard as he retreated from Damian’s presence. Immature, but at least it was on Richard’s own level. 

Jon sat in a chair next to Damian’s head and began to tell him how his family had rescued him. Damian watched as Jon recounted the tale and winced in pain when he tried to turn in his bed. Jon grabbed Damian's hand again and Damian rejoiced in the soft grip. He was safe. 

His father came back into the room and began to fiddle with Damian’s IV drip. A slow, cold sensation began to creep into Damian’s body and he exhaled in satisfaction. 

“Go to sleep Dami. I’ll be here when you wake up.” Jon whispered.

Damian saw no reason to disobey. He closed his eyes.


	6. Alfred I

Alfred Pennyworth had been on his feet for 36 hours and the work did not seem be close to completion. Master Damian, his youngest charge, had been mortally wounded and lay in a drug induced sleep below. His middle charges were messing up his kitchen (Master Jason), pretending to work in his room while secretly canoodling with his beau (Master Timothy and Master Connor), or unconscious on the sofa in library (Master Dick- Alfred shuddered at the informality of using Dick over Richard but the argument had been running for over a decade and now did not seem the time). 

His eldest charge was off brooding somewhere no doubt. Alfred decided not to challenge Master Bruce’s behaviour this time. The “Terror of the Night” as Master Bruce had been styling himself in his text messages to Miss Kyle (Alfred made a mental note to tell him that his brood’s first initial in order of age was not an acceptable passcode for a phone) had been extremely upset by what happened to his youngest son. Master Damian had been tortured horrifically, and Alfred doubted that he would be able to sleep without seeing the wounds on his charge’s back and chest. 19 lacerations over all. Numerous welts. Based on the bruising around his lower back, and the evidence provided by Master Jason, Master Damian would have been raped had not his brother’s burst in. 

Alfred stopped as he strode down the corridor and leant against a column. He inhaled deeply.

He must not think about what could have happened to Master Damian. He must work. Kent minor (as Alfred privately thought of Master Jon) must have a room prepared and must be persuaded to shower. Alfred had ignored the state of his clothes and hair while Master Damian was in danger, but now Master Damian was safe there was little excuse.  
Master Timothy and Kent Major must be told that they were not as discrete as they thought they were (Kent Major seemed to think that climbing up a drain pipe into Master Timothy’s bedroom was undetectable) and Kent Major should remove himself to a guest room. Master Dick intended to stay over with Master Wallace so would require his room to be tidied. He would call Miss Kyle for Master Bruce. Dr Thompkins was asleep in guest room. Alfred had left her a small bottle of Cognac to help restore her spirits.  
Alfred decided that Kent Minor would be the first priority. Alfred began to move again. Down the central corridor of the second floor, passed the bedrooms of Master Timothy, Master Dick, Master Jason (although the he would deny the bedroom to be his, it was still Master Jason’s) and Master Damian. 

He turned down the staircase passing the strained glass window displaying the Wayne crest, recently augmented with a new quarter 4 stars around a central crescent moon (really, Alfred was going to have to speak to Master Bruce and finding less subtle means of showing affection for his sons). Alfred noted once again with satisfaction that since the addition of two metal pillars below, the divergent flights of steps from the main stairway no longer creaked. While Wayne manor was the peak of American Victorian manorial architecture, the architect had never considered 4 boisterous young men running up and down, nor sliding down the carved oak banisters. 

Upon reaching the foot of the grand staircase Alfred turned sharply left into the East Wing of the manor. This wing was generally considered the less grand, and most homely due to the removal of the more alarming portraits of Wayne ancestors and suits of armour. 

Alfred slipped into the study. He had always loved this room with its fine panelling. It was a long rectangular room, set off by a fireplace on its right-hand side (also engraved with the Wayne crest) and book shelves on its left. At the far end of the room was the grand desk designed by George Hepplewhite, cluttered in either corner with photos of his charges. The portraits of Thomas and Martha Wayne smiled serenely down at him as he swept across the room. 

It was his favourite work of art in the manor that hid his preferred entrance to the Batcave. It was a beautiful painting of a woman by John Singer Sargent. The woman bore the serene little smirk sometimes known as the archaic smile. As if she shared in a little joke unknown to the viewer. Alfred swung the painting on its hinge and pinned a code into the box nestled in the alcove behind the painting. The painting swung back. The bookshelves adjacent to it slide aside to reveal the service elevator to the cave. Alfred did not mind Master Bruce or the others descending on a pole, but he was certainly not going to. He stepped in and watched as the bookshelves sealed over the entrance.

The elevator did not play music. Master Dick had once asked for this, but Alfred had disapproved. If the men of the Wayne family could not make polite conversation for the 20 seconds or so it took to descend then there was no hope. 

Alfred stepped onto the cold rock floor of the cave noiselessly, passing Master Bruce at the monitor. His face was lit by the cold blue glow of the screens before him, and Alfred noted a streak of silver appearing in the obsidian hair. Alfred sympathised. Watching those you love suffer would age any man- Alfred would know better even than Master Bruce. 

Master Bruce did not look up. 

Alfred stood outside the medical bay. It was really just a section of the cave that had been walled off with glass. He took another breath to once again steel his nerves to view the damage to his youngest. When Alfred had left the brightly lit room after cleaning it of (and he shuddered) Master Damian’s blood he had been concerned that the young Master would have a disturbed sleep, shattered by nightmares of his torment. 

Kent Minor was curled up on the small bed beside Master Damian. Master Damian’s right arm wrapped around his boyfriend’s shoulders. 

Alfred smiled softly to himself. He silently moved to pull a sheet over Kent Minor and Master Damian and after a moment’s consideration bent to place a small kiss on Master Damian’s temple.

The young man frowned slightly in his sleep and tightened his grip on Kent Minor. 

Alfred checked the IV drip. Enough pain killers to stun an elephant. Good. 

A small murmur made Alfred look up sharply.

Kent Minor seemed to be leaning into embrace and Master Damian had murmured in pleasure. 

Alfred let the two boys sleep. 

They really were very sweet together. Alfred decided that Kent Minor could sleep in Master Damian’s room. He’d just sneak down to the cave anyway to sleep with Master Damian anyway, so Alfred did not see the point in making up another guest bedroom that would not be used. 

Alfred left the cave and slipped out of the study, down the corridor, passed the Landseer paintings, the Piranesi etchings, the marble statue of Mars the Avenger and Venus of the beautiful buttocks (that bore an uncanny resemblance to Master Bruce and Miss Kyle), finally entering the kitchen known by the inhabitants of Wayne Manor as Alfred's domain. Which was nonsensical. The whole Manor was Alfred's domain. 

His kitchen was actually tidier than he had expected. Master Jason sat at the kitchen counter sipping coffee and reading one of the British newspapers that Alfred insisted on subscribing to, even if the news made him furious. Alfred enjoyed seeing Master Jason in the manor. It was too rare and precious not to. 

Since his untimely and entirely reversible demise, Master Jason had filled out from a scrawny teen to a rather handsome young man. His face was scrunched up in concentration as he read. Alfred noted that the holster at his hip was empty. Master Bruce resented guns in the house, and Master Jason valued Alfred’s happiness too much to spark an argument today. Alfred appreciated that. He could not handle conflict in the family today. 

The younger man smiled at the true master of the Wayne household in greeting and poured Alfred coffee from the Denby china coffee pot Master Jason had bought Alfred for Christmas. 

Silently, Alfred allowed Master Jason to gently propel him into a chair, pushed the coffee cup into one of his hands, and dropped the stack of papers in front of him. 

“Alfie, relax.” 

Master Jason and Alfred sat in silence as they drank their coffee, both mentally preparing their to do lists.


	7. Jason I

Jason Todd, having made sure the lest aggravating member of this whole chicken shit outfit was finally giving himself a break decided now was the time to discuss an issue that had been bothering him since he’d help rescue the Demon Brat he called a brother. 

Jason left Alfred to drink his coffee. The Butler and Jason were very similar in handling stress. Alfred internalised his fury and worry into sarcasm and work until he was alone. Jason channelled his into violence and sarcasm, until he was alone. Then both men liked to cry. Alfred called it maintaining a good shop front.  
Jason knew snippets of Alfred’s history. He’d been a soldier and spy for the UK, and had been used to violence, misery and death. Serving the Wayne family was supposed to have been an easy job before he retired. Poor Alfred. He needed this moment alone. 

Jason would find Dick and bug him instead. 

Dickface was in the library of the manor, splayed out on a couch upholstered with fabric that probably cost more than his current apartment. He was fast asleep. Dick was impossible to wake up. 

Jason woke Dick up in the traditional batfamily way. He threw a cushion at him and then leapt back to avoid the flailing hands and legs. 

“What-Jay? What is it? Is Wally back? Does Dami want me?” Dick spluttered out. 

“Dickhead. Did you notice what the Demon brat was wearing when we rescued him?”

“What?” Dick sounded confused.

“Did you see what he was wearing?” 

“No Jay, I was a bit more concerned with making sure he didn’t bleed to death.” 

“Don’t be snotty.” 

“No, Jay, I did not notice what Damian was wearing when we rescued him.”

“He was in a thong.” Jason looked at Dick. He was going scarlet.

“THAT SICK FUCKER PUT DAMIAN IN A THONG?!” Dick roared, the veins and sinews in his dick becoming prominent in rage. 

Jason wasn’t fazed. “No Dickbreath. We recovered the Demon’s clothes right?” 

“Yes.” Dick was panting.

“We didn’t find any underwear with his uniform?”

“No, Jay I didn’t.”

“Well what can we deduce from that?” Jason was getting frustrated with Dick now. He was supposed to be the world’s second-best detective why the fuck wasn’t he getting the point.

“That Damian wore a thong?” 

“YES! Finally! The Demon Brat wore a thong.” Jason grinned at his brother who was blushing hard. 

“Why does that matter?” 

Jason rolled his eyes. Dick was trying to be all accepting and tolerant and honestly on another day Jason would love him for it. Being all supportive of his brothers was great but he needed Dick to get the point.

“Because Dick for brains. Why would Damian wear a thong on patrol?”

“Shape fitting?” 

Jason punched Dick’s arm.

“Then he would’ve worn boxers. The Demon was dressing for Jon. We know they’ve not shagged. But if Damian was wearing a thong, we can deduce that…”

“DAMIAN AND JON WERE GOING TO HAVE SEX LAST NIGHT!” Dick blurted out. 

“FUCKING BINGO. Finally. Jesus fucking Christ Dick it shouldn’t have taken that long.” 

“Well I’m sorry my mind doesn’t go to my baby brother having sex.”

“Dickmuncher, why don’t we go down to the cave and have a little chat with Casanova?”

“Jay he’s just been attacked. He needs to recover.”

“He needs to be treated like nothing has changed and not mollycoddled. I guarantee that if I went down to that cave and hugged and kissed him like I caught you and the replacement doing he’d freak the fuck out and try and stab me. I’m going to go down to the cave, and give him, and his little boyfriend a moderately hard time about thongs the size of dental floss, and the fact that I’ve now see far too much of Damian, and with luck, that’ll make him feel fucking better because he’ll see that I’m not fucking changing because he’s got hurt.” Jason realised he was ranting at a bemused Dick. 

Dick was looking at him in shock. And then that shit eating grin began to spread across his stupid face.

“You actually care for Dami don’t you?”

“Fuck off Dick.”

“You care about your little brother!” Dick threw an arm around Jason. 

“Are you going to come help me bully Jon and the Demon or not?”

“Good cop bad cop?”

“Sure.”

They made their way to the study and into the (in Jason’s opinion) tacky hidden elevator down to the cave. 

They walked straight past Bruce at his monitor and straight into the med-bay. 

Jason looked at Damian and Jon, soundly asleep in each other’s arms. Adorable. 

“Can I have a word with you Jonny boy?” Dick asked shaking the two awake. 

“What do you need Dick?” Jon asked, yawning before swinging his feet off the bed. 

Damian quietly growled then winced. 

Jon spun round quickly and gave the demon a firm look. 

“Stay still Dami or you’ll hurt yourself.” 

The demon, much to Jason’s surprise, settled himself. 

“Anyway, what did you want Richard?” Damian asked.

“Just a word with Jon here, outside.” Dick said already pushing the boy to the door. 

Jason was left alone with the Demon spawn. Good. He got closer.

“So young Damian…”

“Not that young Todd. 18.”

Jason was right beside the bed now. 

“When I was rescuing you, for which you are certainly welcome, I couldn’t help but notice a special garment.” Jason smiled at the beetroot colour that Damian’s face had gone.  
“Now I am no puritan, but I never took you for the slutty underwear type.” Jason continued. He really was enjoying this. 

“That is NONE of your business, Todd. I don’t have to answer to you!” Damian spluttered in response. 

Jason was inches from Damian’s face.

“Now now, no need to worry baby brat. I just thought I’d give some brotherly advice. Wear a condom-“

Damian groaned.

“Tell Jon to go to the shower before hand unless you like ‘em sweaty. But mostly baby brat… thongs aren’t your thing. Maybe try lacy panties instead!” 

Jason’s grand finale of humiliation was ruined by Damian’s fist colliding with Jason’s jaw. 

“FUCK OFF JASON.” Damian shouted as Jason retreated clutching his jaw. 

The baby Demon was bright flushed bright red and looked significantly less vulnerable than before. Jason gave him his best shit eating grin and fled guffawing as he went.  
On the other side of the door Jon was a pleasant shade of pink as Dick was asking whether they were planning on role playing in costume. 

“Now we’ve established that you two planned on screwing last night let’s make one thing clear.” Jason said.  
Jon nodded.

“He was almost sexually assaulted last night by that piece of crap I killed…”

Jon nodded again. 

“And we know you’ll be EXTREMELY careful moving forward in your relationship.” Jason punctuated his point by gently tapping Jon on the jugular. 

Dick was smiling apologetically. 

“Because I may have just taken the piss out of him for wearing a thong, but his happiness is still important to me as it stops Dick whining all the fucking time. So don’t fuck him up by rushing him into PTSD inducing sex or I’ll shoot you in the cock with a kryptonite bullet. Get it?” 

Jon was nodding a lot now. Jason was enjoying this. 

“Otherwise we recommend candles, scented oil and smooth jazz. Have a nice day Jon!” Dick said ruining Jason’s fun. 

Jason winked and left the Superboy and the Bat Brat to blush and cuddle and god knows what else. He’d made the Demon Spawn furious (and back to normal). 

And when Bruce had worked out who ordered the attack on the little shit, Jason was going to kill the bastard, very very slowly. 

He hummed happily at the thought as he grinned at Dick.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and feedback are appreciated.


End file.
